


Reparations

by traditionalfire



Series: Miraak/Arya the Dragonborn: Premature confrontation AU [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dovahzul, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Light Dom/sub, Romance, Size Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:59:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traditionalfire/pseuds/traditionalfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Direct sequel to Restitution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reparations

They were halfway up the path to Saering’s Watch when she heard it: the unmistakable roar of a dragon.

“Oh, lovely. Isn’t that just what we need?” The crunching of footsteps behind her came to an abrupt halt. “I was so sure that rieklings were going to be the worst we had to deal with today.”

“Teldryn, that's exactly the kind of thing you'd say if you wanted to jinx us,” she teased, earning a playful pinch on her side as he continued along the trail.

Soon they crested the hill, and both crept as quickly as possible to the cover of a nearby rock. The sounds of armor clanking and arrows whistling filled the air, but it was the raspy "Fus Roh Dah!" from just ahead that told them all they needed to know about the dragon's prey: only the strongest draugr could Shout like that.

Arya's elbow struck Teldryn hard right below his ribs. "You just had to joke!" she hissed. He rubbed his side, flashing her a toothy grin.

"If you weren't such a little thing, that might have actually hurt." He ignored her scowl. "So what's the plan?"

"Well..." She quickly poked her head around the side, scanning the area as fast as she could before ducking back. "It looks like the dragon has already taken out several of the draugr, and they're doing decent damage to him, too. So I say we wait them out and take on whoever's left standing."

"Smart. I knew I followed you for more than your delightfully plump... Coin purse." He dodged before her elbow could land another blow, but the traitorous blush painting her cheeks was duly noted.

The noise of battle soon ceased, and the ground shook as the dragon dropped to the ground in exhaustion. That was their cue. A rapid succession of ebony arrows driving into the beast's hide alerted it to their presence, but it was too late; the elf was already upon it, driving his blade down into its skull. With a strangled cry it slumped into the snow.

Arya tucked her bow back in place as she trudged through the snow. Her heart was racing. She wanted so badly to blame it on the battle, but that made no sense given how easy it had been. No, what really had her trembling as she approached the dragon was the knowledge that its soul may be stolen, and the implications of said theft... She bit her lip and tried to look normal as her companion brushed past her to clean his sword in the snow.

The dragon's flesh burned away and the distinct, swirling glow of its soul was set free. Tendrils of golden energy began to encircle the girl, and for a moment her heart sank in disappointment. Then the energy rushed past her, and a deep, familiar voice brought a smile to her face.

"I thank you, Dragonborn," he purred, just inches from her ear. The dragon's soul tingled against her skin as it passed to the man behind her. "I hope you'll..." A husky moan escaped him as the last of the glowing tendrils disappeared. She knew what that felt like, and couldn't suppress a shiver of need before turning to face him. He was ethereal, just like the last time he'd taken a soul from her, but she could still see the subtle trembling in his movements as he regained his breath. "Mmmm, I hope you'll visit me for your repayment soon," he finally finished. With that, he abruptly faded away.

Several moments passed as Arya chewed her lower lip, lost in thought, before Teldryn broke her from her reverie.

"Might I ask what in Oblivion that was about? Who was that?" he asked, sauntering back to the spot where Miraak had just stood.

"That... Was Miraak," she answered. "The reason I'm here. I'll... Need to visit him tonight." She hoped that her cheeks weren't as red as they felt, but the way that Teldryn smirked at her told her otherwise. "To speak with him," she added quickly.

"Sure. Speak with him." He chuckled as he began to rummage through the draugrs' gear. "Well, then, we should head back to camp once we're done looting. Wouldn't want to keep him waiting."

Hours later, Arya sat in her tent, staring at the Black Book in her lap. Teldryn promised to look out for her, but... She wondered if there would be any physical signs of what happened to her while she was in Apocrypha. Knowing the elf, he'd never let her live it down. She briefly considered waiting, putting it off until they returned to Raven Rock and she had the privacy of her own room at the corner club. Her fingers passed over the Book's cover, tracing the outline of the grotesque tentacled Daedric Prince as she debated her options.

She thought back on her last conversation with Miraak. The first time she'd seen his face. He looked so sincere, so guilty when he said that he didn't want to kill her. Yet he planned to do it, nonetheless. Unless she killed him first. And here she sat, contemplating visiting him for another meaningless dalliance.

Then she remembered what he'd done to her. The way he touched her, tasted her, spoke to her. How deliciously full and content she felt when he stroked that spot inside her. She swallowed hard, and opened the Book.

The familiar, musty smell of old books welcomed her to Apocrypha. She laid still on her back, just as she'd arrived, placing an arm over her eyes and willing the nausea to pass. If only the trip here became easier with experience, she thought, the temptation to visit more often and sample everything Apocrypha had to offer might be irresistible. Surely Urag gro-Shub would love her forever if she brought him every rare book she could find here. The very thought of the ornery old Orc made her smile, and distracted her enough from the queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach that she could slowly sit up and open her eyes. Miraak's unexpected presence startled her.

"Hello, Dragonborn. I'm glad you came," he said, slowly rising from his place at a nearby desk and strolling towards her. His mask was nowhere to be seen, allowing her to see the brief flicker of a smile in his features, and he quickly extended his hand.

"You waited for me?" was all she could think to say in response as he helped her to her feet. It was a strangely sweet gesture, she thought.

"Indeed." His hand lingered on hers before moving to her hip. "You're late, by the way."

A giddy satisfaction filled her at the thought of him actually looking forward to her arrival. "Am I?" She grinned, unexpectedly earning a harsh glare in return.

"Don't ever make me wait again." The grip on her hip tightened enough to bruise.

"Why? Do you have somewhere to be?" She knew it was probably not wise to provoke him, but she couldn’t help but wonder what he might do to her if he was angry. Thankfully, his expression softened, and the grip on her hip gradually relented.

"Such a smart little mouth." He bent down enough to bring his lips within inches of hers. "Perhaps I should show you a better use for it." Her lips parted in anticipation, but he shifted, leaving a trail of hot kisses along her jaw and throat. It was enough of a distraction that she didn’t notice how he slowly backed her across the room until her lower back bumped into the desk.

Miraak shoved her backwards, sending ruined books and clusters of soul gems clattering to the floor. Soon her boots were carelessly tossed across the room, and Arya struggled out of her tunic while he roughly yanked her leggings down her calves. The sharp contrast of his aggressive behavior in comparison to the initial detachment of their last encounter was not lost on her, though she couldn’t help but wonder what had changed.

The abrupt exposure to the chilly air brought her attention straight to the wetness between her legs, and Miraak’s intent perusal only made it worse. No one had ever looked at her that way, not with such unconcealed hunger. In retrospect, she supposed that was why her marriage to Farkas had lasted less than a year, but she shoved the thought aside as Miraak slipped his gloved hand between her thighs.

His pace was frantic, and she was not ready for such an assault. It was too much. She whined incoherently, and struggled to pull his hand away, to no avail. He only moved faster.

“Who was that Dunmer with you today?” He gripped both of her wrists in his other hand, holding them above her head, as he growled just inches from her ear. She thrashed, but he maintained his frenzied pace, drawing a conflicted cry from her.

“W-why? What does it matter?” It was incredibly difficult to think when it felt like her entire being was focused in her sex.

He slipped a digit inside, rapidly pumping it in and out as his thumb continued the assault on her clit. “Because you belong to me.” His finger curled inside her, roughly stroking the spot he knew would make her buck against him. “Who was he?” Another finger joined the first, and he ducked down to nip at her breast.

Despite her blissful stupor, everything about his behavior started to make sense. “So that’s why you’re acting so…” He interrupted her with a hard bite on the shoulder and rough, circular stroke inside, drawing another long moan.

“Who was he?” he asked again, punctuating each word with a harsh thrust.

“Just a mercenary I hired in Raven Rock,” she groaned. “He’s a friend, nothing more.”

“You swear?” His teeth grazed her earlobe.

“I swear.” She bucked her hips against his hand. She was so close.

He abruptly pulled his hand away and released her wrists. She whined at the loss of contact, but he hushed her with a finger against her lips and a severe look before swooping down to kneel before her. Then his tongue was moving against her, slower than his hand but somehow even more intense. She buried her fingers in his hair and stifled a wail.

“Don’t hold back.” He bit her thigh, hard enough to leave a mark, before gently soothing it with his tongue. “I want you to scream for me, Dragonborn.” The predatory way he gazed up at her made her heart flutter, and he maintained eye contact as he returned to his task, tongue briefly delving inside her, then flicking upwards again.

“F-fuck!” She blushed at her own outburst.

“Geh, like that,” he whispered, as he slipped his fingers inside her again. She could feel his smirk against her when she cried out again, his fingers moving faster. “Marzuh fah zey, Arya. Fun zey vir zolaaf daar fraan.” He lightly sucked her clit as his fingers pumped inside her, rubbing that swollen spot harder and harder with every moan that poured from her lips. She came with a shout, clutching his head tightly against her until she could take no more and abruptly had to forcefully push him away.

For several moments she was left speechless, able only to lean back on shaky arms and pant, eyes closed, as her heart rate gradually returned to normal. She felt Miraak rise and lean over her, and he hurriedly took advantage of her exposed neck with a series of bites and kisses, while his hands roamed her hips and thighs.

“No one has ever… Ever…” She trailed off as the lightheaded daze began to wear off, and she realized there was no polite way to describe what he’d just done.

He chuckled against her neck. “Not even once? The men in your life do not worship you properly, then.” He tangled his fingers in her hair and straightened so that he could look down at her. “You are tozeinvu, Dragonborn. Perfect. Hi imzik zey ful buruk, Laat Dovahkiin. Zu'u laan wah deyto dimaar ko hi, avok ahrk avok einzuk. Zu'u laan wah gejahr hi voth dii maas, ahrk imzik hi bolog fah zuk.”

The words made no sense to her, but the tone said everything she wanted to know, as did the look in his eyes. Suddenly she needed to kiss him, more than anything. Without warning, she grasped his face in her hands and pulled him into an aggressive, scorching kiss.

Arya had craved this for weeks, ever since Miraak went from her worst enemy to… Whatever he was now. Not her lover, not her nemesis, but something in between that made her head swim and her heart ache. When his lips parted and allowed her tongue access, she finally realized why that was. She was smitten.

As if sensing her thoughts, Miraak wrapped his fingers around her throat and squeezed the air from her lungs until she pulled away with a choking gasp.

“What are you doing?” He loosened his grasp on her throat, but his fingers remained, and the way he looked at her made her eyes prickle with tears. She would not let him make her cry, though, so she looked away, jaw set, knowing that if she tried to speak the tears would come anyway. He sighed and pulled his hands away, briefly resting them on her thighs before thinking better of it and crossing his arms across his chest. “You cannot sway me, Dragonborn. I will be free, even if it means…” He trailed off, though she knew what he’d meant to say. “Seducing me won’t change that.”

A bitter little laugh escaped her. “You think I’m trying to seduce you? Have you forgotten who started all this?” Her voice was hoarse and sharp, but she was too angry to care.

“That doesn’t mean…” The words died in his throat when she snapped her head back up to glare at him.

“I’m not stupid, Miraak. We both know that this whole ‘paying me back’ thing is just a flimsy excuse. This is about domination!” Her hands involuntarily balled into fists, and she tucked them under her arms to cover her chest. “About showing me that you can bend me to your will without ever using that Shout.” She glared as long as she could, but she could not keep it up, and had to look away again. “About making me second guess my feelings so it’ll be easier to kill me.” What did it say about her, she wondered, that she knew all this, maybe from the start, and gave in so easily?

An awkward silence hung between them for several moments. She could feel his gaze on her, making her desperately want to redress, but her clothing was scattered around the room and the only thing that could make her feel more ridiculous would be darting around naked in a vain attempt to find both her garments and her dignity. When she finally glanced up, she was surprised to see his shoulders uncharacteristically slumped and a rueful look on his face.

“You’re right. You’re not stupid.” He moved his hands to his hips and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “That’s one of the traits I like most about you, Arya.” Even the intense anger and shame she felt couldn’t stop a blush from painting her cheeks, and he smiled, a sad but genuine smile. “This, too. The way you blush at the slightest provocation,” he added, tilting her head up further and running his thumb along her cheek. “I did indeed intend to break you. Perhaps I still do.” With that, she shied away from his touch, and he sighed again.

“But perhaps more than that, I want to make you happy before one of us must die,” he conceded. There was a note of melancholy in his voice, and she was reminded of the way they’d parted the last time they met like this. “If circumstances were different…”

“They could be!” she interrupted. “We don’t have to play Mora’s game. We can find another way.”

He coaxed her hands away from her chest and held them in her lap, soothing her fingers with his thumbs. “No, we can’t. There is no other way. I have been here for long enough, and I have tried so many things. The plans you ruined were set in motion long before you were even born. And now Hermaeus Mora knows what I’ve been doing. I don’t have much time left.”

A brief pang of guilt struck her. If she hadn’t cleansed the All-Maker Stones, Miraak would still have some hope of returning to Nirn without either of them having to die. But then, all of those people would still be enslaved… She remembered why she was mad to begin with.

“You're manipulating me,” she said with a frown. The slight, devious grin she got in return confirmed her suspicions, so she moved to yank her hands away, but he held them tightly in place.

“You cannot blame me for trying, Dragonborn. But I promise you, this isn't all manipulation,” he purred, and brought her hands up to his lips to kiss each one in turn. “I do genuinely desire your happiness, or at least, your carnal bliss.” His voice was just a low growl, and full of need, and she sort of wanted to punch him for making her so wet despite her anger.

“You're insufferable.” She tried again to remove her hands from his grasp, and this time he allowed it.

“You wound me. Do you not want to take advantage of our limited time together?” He trailed his fingers up her side, then back down until they rested on her hips, and yanked her forward so that she barely teetered on the edge of the table, with his body serving as the only thing between her and a short drop to the floor. Yes, she did want to take advantage of this time, but she was done playing games. With a sly smirk up at him, she grabbed his arousal through his trousers and pumped her fist along its length.

She'd caught him by surprise for once, and he arched into her touch with a groan before regaining his composure enough to still her hand with his own.

“Don’t test me, dovahdin,” he growled, glaring down at her. She gave him her sweetest smile in return.

“You want to make me happy, don’t you?” His grip loosened, and she resumed her ministrations at a slow, rough pace. “You said you wanted to take advantage of our time together. So… Take advantage already.”

“You know why I can’t-” She cut him off with a hard squeeze, making his breath hitch before he could finish.

“I think we’re beyond the point where fucking would make our relationship more complicated.” Her other hand moved to his belt, making quick work of it so that she could slip her hand below the hem of his trousers. He shuddered when her fingers wrapped around him again, shaken enough that he needed to lean against her for support. Watching him come undone so easily encouraged her, and she grabbed his collar to pull him down into another kiss. This time, he did not stop her.

There was a feverish desperation in Miraak’s kiss, reminding Arya that he’d probably not had the opportunity in thousands of years. For a moment he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, but then they were in her hair, pressing her so close that it hurt, though she couldn’t bring herself to care with the way her mind was racing and her heart was pounding. Breathing was an afterthought. All that mattered was the heat of his body, the sting of his teeth grazing against her bottom lip, the way his tongue immediately soothed the pain away before plunging back into her mouth, the sound of his shallow panting. She let him take the lead, since he seemed to enjoy doing so in all things, and simply wrapped her arms around his neck and returned his every move with equal fervor.

The sensible part of her knew that there would be no happy ending, that being infatuated with the most dangerous foe she’d ever encountered was a fantastic way to end up with either a broken heart or an early death, but it was remarkably easy to ignore that when he let out a low groan against her lips and ground his hips against her. She wanted him, consequences be damned.

She slid her hands down to claw at his robes, only to find that it was incredibly challenging to focus on removing them while he continued the assault on her lips, and the many layers he wore made no sense to her – where did one end and another begin? Thankfully he noticed her plight, and in moments his chest was bared to her touch. Her fingers trailed over several scars, more than she would have even expected, and she made a mental note to ask him about them if she ever got the chance, when her mouth wasn’t occupied.

When she began to push his trousers down he tensed, but did not stop her. Progress. She tried hard not to smirk against his mouth. With the bothersome clothing out of the way she finally pulled away from his grip, panting and flushed and very curious about what she’d gotten herself into.

“Oh dear,” she muttered, unable to take her eyes off of him. No wonder he’d warned her that he would be too much for her. He was not especially larger than most Nords, or at least the one Nord she’d been with, but she was suddenly reminded of how difficult it had been to make that work, when she was small even for a Breton. He chuckled in between small gasps for air.

“Reconsidering?” He didn’t sound bothered at all, and she was grateful for that, but there was no going back now. She hooked her calves around his waist and pulled him close, close enough for his length to press against her slick heat and force an appreciative grunt from his chest.

“I’m tougher than I look,” she replied with a lascivious grin. He ground his cock against her in response, drawing a sharp gasp when he brushed against her swollen bud.

“Then let’s begin, dovahkiin.”

That was the only warning Arya had before he reached down to guide his cock into her. There was pain, a sharp ache beyond what she’d mentally prepared for, and it forced a ragged gasp from her as she dug her nails into his arms. Miraak paused, mere inches inside.

“This can’t be your first time.” He brushed her hair aside with his free hand to study her face, though out of concern or to assess the honesty of her response, she couldn’t say.

“By the eight, no.” She giggled. “I’m just… Out of practice with Nords. Or anyone else, for that matter.” The pain was quickly fading, though she still felt uncomfortably stretched. He lifted her chin, running his thumb over her lips, and locked her in an intense gaze.

“I will be the only man you ‘practice’ with, from now on,” he stated firmly, while slowly withdrawing nearly completely, only to push forward again, further than before. His tone made her shiver, and she could feel herself grow slicker. “You belong to me. Remember?”

The next thrust slid easier, until he was nearly buried to the hilt. Encouraged, Miraak shifted enough to allow his fingers to massage her clit once more, moving in time with his hips. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned softly, absent-mindedly running her tongue over his thumb, before she regained enough focus to respond.

“I belong to the man who keeps reminding me that he’s going to kill me eventually?” Her hips rocked forward of their own accord to meet his slow, deep strokes, earning a low hum of approval.

“Hush,” he rasped as his mouth hungrily met hers. He was moving faster now, grasping desperately at her breasts and drawing keening cries with every movement. This was not the gentle love making she was accustomed to with her last lover – in fact, her only other lover. It was rough, fast, passionate, and she was overwhelmed with sensation. Later, she would wonder if she was too passive, if she should have done more to match Miraak’s pace, but in the moment, all she could bring herself to do in her pleasurable daze was hold him close with her thighs and caress every inch of skin she could reach.

“Hi los dii, hi fen unstiid kos dii,” he murmured between breathless groans. “Daar los dez, los ni nii? Munax, vahliindus dez.” Despite his frenzied pace, his tone was wistful, and he nuzzled her throat reverently.

“What does that mean?” she managed to ask, forcing herself to focus on his words and not just the concentrated ecstasy where their loins met, the wet sounds of their coupling, the scratching of his beard against her sensitive skin.

Miraak gave no answer. He was trembling, with his face hidden against her neck and hoarse moans spilling out with abandon, and the knowledge that she could cause such a powerful, composed man to lose control in her arms made her heart sing.

She was already so close, so very close, when he gave up on rubbing her mound in favor of grasping at her ass to pull her closer with each snap of his hips. The angle was perfect, allowing his cock to stroke that wonderful spot inside with every movement, and she was moaning his name now, tugging his hair and calling to him like the foreign word was a prayer.

“Zu'u los hin, Zu'u los hin,” he sighed, and the ardor in his voice was too much. Every muscle clenched and she saw stars, as the rhythmic clenching of her already tight sex coaxed him over the edge with her. He could only manage a few more deep, hard thrusts before he collapsed against her, shaking and panting while she stroked his hair and murmured incomprehensible sweet sounds in his ear as a hot, wet feeling diffused inside her.

They stayed like that for some time, content to simply hold each other while they regained their senses. It might have been awkward, had either of them cared to think it through. Arya, at least, chose not to – that line of thought would lead to accepting that their liaison was one step closer to a bloody end.

Eventually Miraak stood with a sigh, allowing himself to slip out, a trail of come following close behind. He smirked at the sight. “Ah, if only I could mark you as mine in the realm of the living.”

“Perhaps we’ll find a way,” she mused, and allowed him to gently remove her legs from around his waist.

“You truly believe you'll find a way to end this without bloodshed, don't you?” He gave her one last lingering kiss before pulling his trousers back up and refastening his robes. “Your naïveté is endearing.”

“And your condescension is irritating.” She slipped to the floor carefully, legs still wobbly. Thankfully, her clothing did not make it very far. “Do you expect me to believe that you don’t care about me now?” She waited for him to make eye contact before continuing. “I may not know how to speak Dragon, but…”

“Do you want me to stay here until Mora discovers my plot?” He closed the gap between them to stroke her cheek, though his gaze focused on her lips. “Do you want him to kill me, likely in the most painful way he can imagine? Or worse, do you want him to ensure I have no hope of ever escaping this nightmare?”

Arya contemplated her options as he traced the small scar on her jaw, the one she’d earned in a particularly rough scuffle with her older brother.

“You remember what you said the first time you stole a soul from me?”

He paused, but still did not make eye contact.

“You asked me if I thought it hurt to have one’s soul ripped out like that. I never answered, but I think it does. It probably hurts in the same way that devouring a soul gratifies.” She took his face in her hands. “That’s what you want to do to me?”

He shuddered involuntarily, before gingerly moving her hands away. “Now who is being manipulative?”

“I’m serious.” Her eyes were misty again, but she was strong, by the divines, and there was still hope. “I promise you, I’ll find a way to get you out. I swear by Hircine!”

“Oh, wonderful, another Daedric Prince is getting involved,” he snorted. Still, her pleas must have had some effect, because his expression softened quickly. “I don’t have that kind of time. If you hadn’t ensnared me so, I would have killed you the moment you first arrived in this plane.”

She straightened his belt buckle. “But you didn’t. Why was that?”

Rather than answering, he turned away, but not before a peculiar rosy hue colored his high cheekbones. It was enough to bring a smile to her face.

“Give me one week. If I don’t have a solution by then, I will be back for this grand battle you have planned.” It wasn’t enough time, there was no way it could be, not when he’d spent thousands of years exhausting every other option, but she would not give up. They both deserved that much.

“One week,” he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. “That may be too long, but… I will wait. For you.”

She nearly bounced with glee, but settled instead for planting a quick peck on his cheek before heading towards the Black Book to return to Nirn.

“And one more thing, Dragonborn. Tell that elf that if he touches you, I’ll kill him.”

“Fuck you,” she laughed.

“Bring me home, and I’ll get right on that.” There was an unusual mirth in his tone, and Arya couldn’t stop grinning.

“One week, I promise,” she called, and then the Black Book took her home.

**Author's Note:**

> TRANSLATIONS:  
> “Geh” = “Yes”  
> “Marzuh fah zey, Arya. Fun zey vir zolaaf daar fraan.” = “Scream for me, Arya. Tell me how delightful this feels.”  
> “tozeinvu” = “perfect”  
> “Hi imzik zey ful buruk, Laat Dovahkiin. Zu'u laan wah deyto dimaar ko hi, avok ahrk avok einzuk. Zu'u laan wah gejahr hi voth dii maas, ahrk imzik hi bolog fah zuk.” = “You make me so hard, Last Dragonborn. I want to bury myself in you, over and over again. I want to fill you with my seed, and make you beg for more.”  
> “Hi los dii, hi fen unstiid kos dii” = “You are mine, you will always be mine”  
> “Daar los dez, los ni nii? Munax, vahliindus dez.” = “This is fate, is it not? Cruel, seductive fate.”  
> “Zu'u los hin, Zu'u los hin” = “I am yours, I am yours”


End file.
